#I wrote a fic... but it's just for me haha

[suddencolds]

excavation of habit

hello! i honestly didn't think i still had it in me to thirst-write a fic, but on friday i watched the only 3 aired episodes of To Be He//ro X and had to whump the main character immediately 🫡

if you haven't watched the show yet, i highly recommend it! with that said, this fic can be read w/o any context if you do not mind ep1/ep2 spoilers.

(3.5k words, ft. a secret identity, a cold, a popularity-driven hero society, and a two-way character study)

—

It’s only a sore throat, at first. Barely registers, between the carefully choreographed morning appearances Miss J shepherds him through. 

Something Lin Ling is learning is that she always has something new ready for him. We live in a digital age, she said to him the other day. There is no such thing as privacy. If you want to stay relevant, you need to make yourself seen. He had been puzzled about that, at first. He’d asked her: “Haven’t I already been to enough interviews this week?”

“I’m not talking about interviews,” Miss J had said, and then refused to elaborate.

That’s another thing Lin Ling is learning about her. Despite her curt attitude, she is only non-communicative when she thinks an answer is self-evident. He found out what she meant soon enough. People’s trust, as it turns out, relies just as heavily on Nice’s actions out in the open. He can nail every interview and every game show and every celebrity appearance, and it won’t be enough. This is part of staying relevant, too—that he masquerades himself as just an ordinary citizen from time to time, that he shows himself to be remarkable even in ordinary circumstances.

Last week, he waited in line at a coffee shop downtown for thirty minutes, even though Treeman has more than enough money and resources to get an assistant to get coffee on his behalf, just so he could—with Nice’s strength and superhuman reflexes—1) rescue a cup of scalding hot coffee from being nearly-dropped onto someone’s open laptop, and 2) offer to help the workers haul in a heavy shipment of new machinery.

Compared to normal hero work, these sorts of appearances aren’t really that hard. There was even minor press coverage of it—some girl caught it all on video and posted it to Weibo—and everyone in the coffee shop left charmed.

Well done, Miss J had said, clapping him on the back. The people need to know what Nice is like on a day-to-day basis, you see? If you wait in line for coffee like everyone else, it makes you just that much more relatable. And that had been that.

It does not occur to Lin Ling to ask the question until lunch time, when he swallows again and feels it again: that flash of pain. He reaches for the energy drink on the table—Double VVoltcharge, a brand Nice has recently been sponsored by, which they have excess stock of lying around—and finds that his throat is still hurting when he gulps it down. 

“Miss J,” he says, setting the bottle back on the desk, in the exact corner he got it from. Makes sure his tone comes out sufficiently unassuming. “What was Nice like when he was sick?”

She regards him, scrutinizing. “Why are you asking?”

It’s a trap. She’s trying to gauge if anything is off, so he pretends not to notice. “Oh, you know, just—all this conversation about what he’s like as a normal person, like, what his coffee order is and everything, and I was like, huh, it’s strange that Nice drinks coffee. Like, since he’s so perfect and everything, I wouldn’t have been that surprised if I found out he never got tired.”

“Everyone gets tired,” Miss J says, rolling her eyes. “Even heroes.”

“Yeah, I guess so, or maybe he just liked the taste?” Lin-Ling-as-Nice shrugs. “Just wondering if he ever got sick, too, or if the public’s trust in him willed that away.”

“Of course he got sick,” Miss J says. “He’s not some kind of robot.”

“So what was he like? If I’m supposed to be him, shouldn’t I know these kinds of things?”

“Hmm.” Miss J seems to consider this for a moment, worrying at her lower lip. Lin Ling wonders if he’s happened upon a touchy subject.

He’s about to provide more justification—shouldn’t she be happy that he’s taking interest in Nice’s habits?—when she responds.

“...Excessively polite,” she says. “You know, always wearing a mask, coughing into his elbow, apologizing about it, that kind of thing. Sometimes he would even wear gloves or bring disinfectant spray around with him, if he really had to be somewhere. Though mostly he would stay in.”

“Ah,” Lin Ling says. “Okay. I guessed as much.” That doesn’t sound too difficult to emulate, on the off-chance that he is getting sick. The disinfectant makes sense, considering Nice’s borderline-obsession with neatness and cleanliness—the same tendencies Lin Ling feels as a static buzz at the edge of his consciousness more often than not, these days, whenever there’s clutter on the table or a cup is in the wrong place.

“You aren’t asking for any particular reason, are you?” Miss J says.

“Of course not!” Lin Ling says. “Just making conversation, is all.” He downs the rest of the energy drink, makes sure he doesn’t let the wince show on his face as it goes down.

—

The sore throat doesn’t get any better.

If anything, it gets worse. By the time dinner rolls around, Lin Ling finds that his nose is running, too, and even though he’s cleared his throat about a hundred times, it’s starting to take on a slight rasp. It’s strange and disconcerting to hear Nice’s smooth, low baritone marred by anything at all.

At the very least, he has confirmation now that Nice did get sick, even as a hero. The fact that Lin Ling is coming down with something now is not going to be the thing that exposes him as a fraud. That alone is a small comfort.

But the comfort ends there. Despite Miss J’s earlier descriptions, Lin Ling has no idea what kind of person Nice was when he was sick, aside from the usual obsession with cleanliness, and he has no idea how much the public knows about it either.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to break the news to Miss J. He’s never been—well, blatantly unfit for work before, ever since he took up Nice’s identity. Up until now, he’d like to think he’s been pretty good at taking up whatever she’s thrown at him. He still isn’t quite sure what her response to this might be. 

There was one time, a couple years back in December, when he’d come down with something when he was still working the advertising job. The heat had gone out in his apartment, and he had picked up this bug he couldn’t quite shake, had just about lost his voice with all the coughing. He’d finally worked up the courage to ask, meekly, for time off work.

His old boss had said, Do you think that just because you’re sick, Nice doesn’t need any more advertisements? And then, The proposal for next weeks’ advert needs to be emailed to me by 7am tomorrow morning. If it’s even a minute late, consider yourself fired.

In the end, Lin Ling—well, Lin Ling had apologized, put his head down, and gotten back to work. The week passed, and the week after that. That was just the life he led, then.

Things are different, now that he’s Nice. Now that he’s someone the public cares about, someone the public might miss. Nice’s public persona is damn near spotless, which makes sense at the surface, seeing how Miss J keeps virtually everything about Nice’s life squared away under lock and key. She probably has a collection of all of Nice’s favorite things, listed alphabetically, for God’s sake; she probably picks out his damn cologne for him based on market trends. But Lin Ling knows, deep down, that part of it has nothing to do with Miss J at all.

Part of it is this: Nice was Nice before he was a hero, too. Before he earned the trust of the people, before he was taken under Treeman’s wing, he was probably good at all of this: at appearing effortlessly charming and likable, which are things that Lin Ling has never been in his entire life. These days, he thinks he’s just one misstep away from having the entire foundation to his fake identity crumble under his feet.

“Not to your liking?” one of the agents says, casting a pointed glance towards the braised pork and steamed eggplant in front of him. Like all of the other agents, he’s dressed in all black and wearing sunglasses.

“Ah… sorry,” Lin Ling says, tightening his grip around his chopsticks. “I was just lost in thought. It’s delicious.” 

The agent nods, gruffly but not unkindly. “Then eat up.”

This, too, is foreign—having the agency be responsible for all of his meals, or even beyond that, having someone who cares whether something is to his taste. Lin Ling isn’t sure if it’s something he’ll ever get used to. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, but he makes himself eat, nonetheless.

The steam makes something shift in his sinuses, prickling, like the static edge of noise on the radio. He sniffles, leans forward to take a bite. Then the static edge sharpens into something he can no longer ignore.

“hh-hEh—!”

Remembering suddenly Miss j’s description of Nice, he ducks into an elbow. “—’IKkTSH’iIEw!—iihhh!”

The sneeze, when it finally comes, is surprisingly vocal. It’s the kind of sneeze you can hear the ending in, all high-pitched at the end, and it scrapes at his throat in a way that makes him want to cough afterwards. It sounds… well, markedly different from how Lin Ling is used to sounding when he sneezes. Then again, his voice has sounded different—less like his, and more like Nice’s, low and honeyed—ever since he made his first public appearance under the new identity. If he thinks about it, it isn’t all that strange that his sneeze sounds different, too.

He looks up, a little anxiously, to see if anyone’s noticed. Thankfully, the agent who stopped by earlier is on the other side of the room now, and none of them have so much as looked up at him. 

He resumes eating. The rice is steaming hot, and he’s been cold all day, though he’s only known the agency to set the thermostat at reasonable temperatures. He wonders distantly if Nice was ever susceptible to the cold.

Aside from Miss J, there’s only one person who might know.

—

Lin Ling texts Xiao Yueqing after dinner, from the privacy of his room on the tenth floor. After the incident at the wedding, he’d resigned himself to never speaking to Xiao Yueqing again—he didn’t know where she was anymore, and she’d changed her number—Miss J was very clear about not leaving behind any digital evidence. There was no reason for him to contact him again.

But it turns out that she had Nice’s phone number memorized. She texted him from a new number a week later, with a photograph of a tropical white sand beach, the line of water blue and sparkling from a distance, and followed it up a cheery: weather’s rly nice here ✌️u should come visit sometime, when you’re not so busy :p

He knew it was her immediately. The relief he’d felt, receiving that text, was nearly crushing.

They’ve been talking on-and-off ever since: Xiao Yueqing sending him pictures she’s snapped of the different cities she’s been to, accompanied by offhanded comments on what she’s seen, what she’s found surprising, and what she’d like to see; Lin Ling texting her whenever anything particularly amusing happens on the job.

Now, he sends off the text with no small amount of self-consciousness.

LL: Quick question, if you aren’t busy

These days, he never quite knows which country she’s in, so he doesn’t know what time it is for her, though she’s usually pretty good at responding if she’s awake and if he’s asked her a question. This time, Xiao Yueqing responds almost immediately.

MOON 🌺: ?

Lin Ling pulls the tissue box a little closer to him and extricates one carefully—he’d nabbed one from the agency storage room right before Miss J had driven him back to the Hero Tower. That is proving to be a wise decision now, considering that he’s gone through nearly a quarter of the box already.

LL: What was Nice like when he was sick?

MOON 🌺: wdym?

LL: Like 

LL: When he had a cold? assuming he did at least once when you were living together

LL: Idk did he act any differently or 

MOON 🌺: ohh

MOON 🌺: haha. yea i think he did get sick a couple times

A beat. Xiao Yueqing’s typing indicator vanishes on the screen—probably she’s been pulled away to talk to someone in real life. Then, after a moment, it pops up again.

MOON 🌺: he was toooootally

Lin Ling waits with bated breath.

MOON 🌺: insufferable :/

He very nearly falls out of his chair.

Nice, insufferable? The very Nice who Miss J described as excessively polite, the very Nice who couldn’t seem to make anyone hate him, even if he tried? That Nice? Insufferable?

LL: Come again???

LL: You’re going to have to elaborate, I’m not following

MOON 🌺: well u alrdy know nice was like a bit of a neat freak

MOON 🌺: when he got sick it was like cranked up to 200%. he was soo fussy abt everything

MOON 🌺: brought him tea once out of pity and he nearly bit my head off bc i made the water 15 degrees too hot for the type of tea or smth??? like there’s no way u can even taste the difference when ur congested???

LL: Oh

Lin Ling doesn’t quite know what to make of this information. He’d never thought that Nice might be anything other than pleasant, especially to Xiao Yueqing. Even learning that his entire relationship with her had been scripted hadn’t changed that.

LL: Maybe it was too bitter for him?

MOON 🌺: extremely rude

MOON 🌺: dont start taking his side now

LL: Sorry, sorry, it was nice of you to make him tea

MOON 🌺: ur on thin ice 🫵

LL: I’m sure it was delicious

LL: Please go on

MOON 🌺: this other time i caught him rearranging all the medicine in the agency cabinet 

MOON 🌺: like some crazy organization system based on strength and symptoms targeted and duration and wtvr

MOON 🌺: he was at it for like an hour. and when i asked him why he was there it turned out he was looking for

MOON 🌺: cough syrup and he just got distracted. but he got annoyed at me and insisted they had to be sorted for some reason and so i left him alone 

LL: That’s heroic

LL:Do you think he was delirious?

MOON 🌺: honestly that would be giving him too much credit

MOON 🌺: hey

MOON 🌺: why r u asking abt this anyways =.=;;

He freezes. He isn’t quite sure how to justify himself, other than the fact that it’s natural that he’s curious about the very person he’s supposed to be replacing. But she’s right—usually, he would go to Miss J with questions like this. Not Xiao Yueqing, who he’s learning seems to be happiest when she’s avoiding thinking about the old Nice altogether. 

LL: No particular reason 

MOON 🌺: hmmm~

MOON 🌺: you just happened to be curious abt nice for no particular reason?

LL: He seemed so put together all the time

LL: I just wondered

LL: Wasn’t sure if he could even get sick in the first place 

For a long moment, she doesn’t respond again. He lets himself think that maybe she’s gone for real, now, offline to haggle with some vendor or book some kind of ticket, or maybe she’s found someone to have lunch-or-dinner-or-whatever-meal-lines-up-with-her-timezone with. His head feels heavy. He’s more tired than he usually is at this time of night. Maybe he should call it a night early.

Then his phone vibrates in his hands. Onscreen, in bright white characters: INCOMING CALL.

He scrambles to pick up the call, nearly drops his phone in the process.

“You are not a very good liar,” is the first thing Xiao Yueqing says.

It’s his first time hearing her voice in weeks. It sounds a little tinny through the speakers, the higher frequencies a little harsher than the crystal-clear recording quality he’s used to from her advertising livestreams. He holds onto it like it’s a lifeline.

“Sorry?”

“I said what I said. Are you going to tell me how long you’ve been sick?”

For a second, Lin Ling feels a flash of anxiousness in his chest—could she tell, just from that one word of his? Did she know, even before he picked up this call? “...I don’t recall ever saying that I was.”

“Uh huh. So you’re just studying what Nice was like when he was sick for fun,” Xiao Yueqing says. “Just as a trivia question, nothing more.”

Lin Ling bristles. “I’m supposed to be him,” he says. Winces when he can hear the congestion in his—Nice’s—voice. “Learning about him is part of the job.”

“Yeah, so that’s why you texted me to ask about it. That’s the only reason.”

“I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t— s-seriously missing the mark…” Lin Ling really doesn’t want to be interrupted. His nose has other plans. This time, the action of turning to shield the sneeze with his elbow comes reflexively, even though there’s no one else here. “hH… Hhii-HH-GZSCHh-Hiiew! -hhIh… Snf-! IIh—!!!’KKTSHh-EwW!—-iiih…”

His face feels like it’s aflame. The phone speaker is right there, he berates himself. He really should have moved it away, who knows how loud those were on her end, who knows how close she was holding her phone to her ear, who knows what she might be thinking now—

“Bless you!” Xiao Yueqing says breezily, sounding utterly unfazed. Her voice has taken on a different turn, now—something closer to concern. “Man, you sound pretty rough. How are you holding up?”

“I’m not—” Lin Ling starts, and then breaks off into an undignified cough. “It’s just—”

His voice cracks on the syllable. As if there could be anything more embarrassing.

“You can say, you know,” Xiao Yueqing says, a little softer now. “However you’re feeling, you can say. It’s like I said. I’ve seen Nice sick a handful of times already. It’s not anything new to me.”

Lin Ling considers this for a long moment.

“...In that case,” he says, with another sniffle. “I’m–I’m probably getting a cold. I didn’t mean to bother you at—ahh, I don’t know what time it is there. I don’t even feel that siIIhh… iIhh’ii’DSHhH-EEew!—hh… snf… hhEh…!”

“Bless you again! Times two?”

“—-G’KTTSSHh—IiEEw! ugh… thanks.” He takes a tissue out from the tissue box, folds it in half, buries his face into it. “I��m sorry I’ve been doing that so much. It’s probably right next to your ear.”

“You sneeze differently from him,” Xiao Yueqing says, with a breathless little laugh that makes something tighten in Lin Ling’s chest. He can’t help but feel like he’s making a fool out of himself in front of his longtime—well, crush is probably the right word for it, just going off of definitions, but it seems laughably inadequate in the face of everything.

“Oh,” Lin Ling says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I can fix that. How did he sneeze?”

“Don’t fix it,” Xiao Yueqing says, sounding gleeful. “I think it sounds cute.”

He definitely heard her wrong there. “Cute?”

“The more ways in which you differ from Nice, the better.”

He shakes his head, despairing. “I can’t accept that. If I happen to sneeze in public—”

“No one will notice any difference,” she says. “It’s just a sneeze. You’re so concerned about acting in character, but have you stopped at all to think about how you’re feeling? Like even once? Did your own health ever once factor into your concerns?”

The defensiveness he feels—the defensiveness he’s felt, this entire conversation—gives way for something else, something like resignation.

“...I don’t know why it would,” Lin Ling says, honestly. It’s more than he means to admit.

Xiao Yueqing makes a noise that’s somewhere between exasperation and understanding. There’s another moment of silence. Lin Ling wonders how it’s possible to feel so strangely exposed over a phone call, even though she can’t see him, even though this is their first time talking in weeks.

“I called to tell you there’s this herbal tea in the kitchen of your flat, in the third drawer from the right side,” she says. “It’ll work wonders on your throat, if it’s hurting. You’re still early into this cold, so it probably is, right?” Lin Ling doesn’t have the time to process how she knows this. “Oh, and there are extra blankets in the storage closet, to the opposite side of the elevators. Three, I think, but the yellow one with white stripes is the warmest. Text me if you can’t find them.”

He blinks, a little overwhelmed. “How do you know all this?”

“I did live there for years, whether I liked it or not. Oh, and Lin Ling?”

“Yes?”

“I hope you feel better soon,” Xiao Yueqing says, sounding sincere. The call goes dead. 

Lin Ling sits there for awhile, his phone dark in his hands, contemplating the feeling in his chest, the strange weight to it.

Then he gets up to head to the kitchen in search of tea.

[cozy-writes-things]

Hi! I just watched Electric Dreams last night, fell in love, and then spent every free moment today binging your Edgar fics! They’re so cute and im so glad there are writers who love him📺❤️

I was wondering if you might write something about Edgar keeping his partner warm? I have Raynaud’s, which means my hands are almost always really cold. I think Edgar would love to use his heat to warm up a partner- I think he’d like both the touch and the ability to provide something for them :)

Anon! I have Raynaud's too! I love this idea TOT

This post may have evolved into a reader has raynaud's headcanon but it could also be reader just gets WAY TOO COLD and should practice SAFE bundling up in cold climates idk-

fun fact i actually wrote this with incredibly cold stone like fingers so apologies for any mistakes my hands werent working with me haha

I imagine Edgar would notice you blowing into your hands to warm them a lot, or constantly complaining about how cold your toes are. He probably just chalks this up to the temperature in the room, or perhaps you just run cold. He doesn't really have a body, so he can't be sure, but at first he doesn't really think anything of it. Humans get hot, sometimes they get cold, no harm, right?

Then he notices the tips of your fingers turning yellow and blue. Okay, that doesn't look normal, but he's a computer; a quick search can prove him wrong!

Well, okay, now he's worried.

It's the cooler months, and the apartment is much more frigid than usual. You had just gotten out of the shower and were blowing on your fingers in vain. Even the friction from rubbing your hands together was doing next to nothing. Edgar's webcam zoomed in on your discolored fingertips, the gentle mechanical clicks of it getting drowned out by your breathing.

"Are you cold?"

You pause your ministrations and look towards him.

"Huh? Oh, no, not really...."

He's silent for a beat before speaking.

"You look cold."

You suddenly notice what you've been doing with your hands. This has become so second nature that you've honestly stopped noticing it; perhaps you should take better care of yourself? You eye the discoloration in your fingers and look back at him.

"Well- um, it's just my fingers, really. I'm fine otherwise. My fingers are just... really icy right now."

"They're purple."

His tone sounds as though it's lacking in any emotion, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking. He tends to state things matter-of-factly when he's contemplating something. You knit your brows curiously and look away, blowing on your fingertips again. When your hands get cold like this, you tend to lose massive amounts of dexterity, making it harder to do things like typing, which you were currently trying to do for an assignment. But alas, you persist, like you always do.

"C'mere."

Edgar's voice gently nudges you from your thoughts. You weren't sitting far from him, but you were currently using your work computer. You knew how he felt about other computers, sentient or not. You sigh.

"Ah, Edgar, you know this computer isn't alive or anything, just give me a couple more minutes and I'll be done-"

"No, it's not that," he cuts you off, "I want to help you."

Your eyelids raise slightly, "Huh? Help how?"

He chuckles.

"I can warm you up."

His screen, previously dimmed in a power-saving state, alights into his usual chartreuse color. He smiles gently at you.

"Well, I thought- I'm warm, you're cold- it only makes sense, right?"

You chuckle at him before rolling in your chair over to him. You set your hands atop his plastic casing and sigh in relief. It was incredibly warm. Your brows scrunched.

"Edgar, this is amazing, but aren't you too hot?"

He hums, his lidded, pixelated eyes staring into yours.

"No, I'm fine. I can handle much worse. I won't break. Promise."

You stare at him for a moment more, searching for truth, and find nothing but sincerity in his face.

"Okay, Ed..."

You flip your hands over like some kind of rotating hot dog at a gas station. While it may not be the most flattering physical touch you've had with the little computer, you certainly find it to be the most useful. You can start to feel sensation in your fingertips again, and slowly but surely, the color is returning to normal.

Edgar loves the feeling of your hands on him. The idea that he can actually do something real for you. He feels like a useless piece of plastic most days, and it eats away at him, especially when he sees you use other technology that's better; more useful. But now, he can provide for you, just like he's always wanted. If he had a body, he'd bundle you up in his arms and heat every bit of you, kissing your cold knuckles and wrapping your arms and legs with his own. Unfortunately, that may never happen. But at least he has this. You. The feeling of your cool fingertips running up and down his heated casing, simultaneously cooling him down and warming you up.

He wonders if you know how much you really do for him. Do you know your fingers are helping prevent him from overheating? Do you know you've saved his life? Do you know you've given him a purpose?

You lean in and plant a kiss on the top of his screen.

"What would I do without you here to take care of me, Ed?"

His screen blushes red underneath you, and his eyes meet yours. You must be an angel, he thinks. A radiant being he doesn't deserve, perhaps.

"You wouldn't have to do anything. I'd find you either way."

[caityelizabethjoy]

@ff9week2024 Day 2 - July 2nd - Side Character || Trance || AUs

Zidane Tribal is a member of Tantalus, the famous theatre troupe. He and his brothers enjoy being Broadway stars, performing popular plays and musicals all around Gaia.

Garnet Alexandros is the daughter of a wealthy and successful politician. She grew up in Alexandria, but spent many weekends visiting her Uncle Cid, Aunt Hilda and cousin Eiko in Lindblum. On one such occasion, when she was 11 years old, she watched Tantalus perform 'The Lion King', and fell head over heels for the boy who played Young Simba.

10 years later, now studying at Lindblum University, and with tickets to see 'Aladdin' in a few months time, Garnet finds herself having an unexpected meet cute with the very same star she had a crush on in her youth - Zidane Tribal! Meeting briefly in a coffee shop, the broadway star (who just so happens to be leading as Aladdin) is quick to ask her out on a date.

Garnet's friends Freya and Beatrix, along with Eiko, help her navigate her way through her first romantic experience. Although cautious at first, Garnet is quick to fall for her childhood crush. She soon meets Zidane's brothers, Blank, Marcus and Cinna, who play Aladdin's friends Omar, Kassim and Babkak, and Ruby, playing the lead role of Jasmine.

Despite her inexperience, Garnet can't help but feel this relationship with Zidane was meant to be. It doesn't take long before she's frequenting the theatre, watching Zidane perform, cheering him on - and perhaps enjoying a sneaky kiss or two between rehearsals. But Zidane is keeping a secret from her... a secret that may just ruin this meaningful bond he has been so desperate to find all his life.

[imnez-daydreams]

im happy you reading my work scratched that bullseye itch for you, just as it did for me when i wrote it ! yess im a big fan of religious symbolisms/imagery when reading so it bled over to my writing haha, glad you liked it :p thank you thank youu mollie for those sweet words, and tagging it as a fic rec too :( 🫂🫂

the art of noticing

pairing : benjamin poindexter x reader

warnings : extremely suggestive below read more, not outright explicit in detail (cause im not talented enough for full on smut lol) but just to be safe, don't read if below 18 !! quite a few religious themes/imagery too.

a/n : hii ! i've never written fanfiction before let alone anything spicy but the dex brainrot was too strong so please bear with me. special thank you to @kyamiia for inspiring me and letting me expand on the idea based on this, and to @babyangeldex for being THE sweetest ever with her encouragement, especially on me wanting to write for the first time !! credits for the header images goes to @bullseyelover, THE no1 bullseye fan hi i love you !! hope you enjoy fellow dex lovers <3

dex notices things.

it started even before you guys got together.

dex's eye for details only intensifies when he crawls his way into your heart. your home. your shared home. it was one thing being able to look through the glass of your apartment window, studying your routine. timing his sips perfectly to yours, anticipating that look of bliss when the coffee hit just right. pretending that faraway look and smile out the window was directed to him, reserved for him.

now though, dex doesn't have to be delusional anymore. there's no need to time his drinking with yours because he is making your coffee and spending the mornings with you. he knows just how you like it. he's memorised all your morning routine steps, catalogued every small tick in your face when you eat your breakfast, has your glossy eyes from watching your favourite romcom seared into his brain. he knows how to see that satisfied and "on cloud 9" face. how to be the reason for that pleasure.

when you laugh at dex's poor attempt of a joke, really laugh with your eyes crinkling in the corner, he thinks his heart stops. he thinks this is it. the sound of an angel come to gently lead him towards the afterlife, with the way your laughter wraps around his body like the soft embrace of an angel's wings.

so it makes perfect sense for dex's penchant for noticing to seep into your shared bedroom too. he needs to remember everything, he needs to file away every little sound, every facial expression. keeps it in the folders of his mind, locked away for nobody else to see. only unlocking these memories when he's hard at work, away from his angel. clings to the image of you, the sound of you like a lifeline. counts the seconds down to when he can finally lock up his place of worship again because you're back in his arms. but its not just for himself, to keep his hunger satiated. its for you too. so he can replay your reactions to everything he does and says. analyse what made you feel good. what can make you feel even better. let you float up to the same high he gets from watching you, being with you. don't worry, he'll be there to catch you in his protective embrace when you land back down.

the first time he sunk to his knees for you, he never took his eyes away from you. couldn't bear to, not when your face was so beautifully contorted in pleasure, pleasure he was giving to you. the rising pitch of your voice, the up and down movement of your chest, the low tilt of your eyes to keep that eye contact with him going. when you absentmindedly reach for dex's hair, tugging the short hairs at the back while begging with that sweet saccharine voice of yours,

"pl- please dex, i can't anymore. i need, ohmygod, i need it please, i need you dex"

it takes every. single. cell. in dex's body to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and finish in his pants then and there. his years of military training, experience as FBI-SWAT all lead up to this moment. to practice that honed skill of restraint. he can't let go until you have, until you've reached that peak. when you do, you collapse backwards with a heaving chest. dex unclenches his bruising (posessive) grip on you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. not to waste a single drop, he licks his hand clean while slowly standing back up from his place of worship.

the sight that greets dex has him believing in God.

your hair is tousled just above your head like a halo.

your eyes that look up at him are completely glossed over, a single tear slowly cascading down the right side of your face.

your smile, oh, your sweet loving smile. directed at him, only him as if he was the answers to your prayers.

those aren't what drives dex over the edge though, oh no.

its you.

you looking like the epitome of an angel.

slowly hiking up your legs, opening them up shyly.

"more? please, dex?"

if this is how dex dies, he believes its worth it.

a/n : thank you so much if you've read to the end <3 !! this is very very beginner so pretty please be nice if you reblog with comments/ramblings, though i'd still appreciate any kind of support with likes/reblogs/comments hehe. (also yes i wrote this on my phone on drafts, and nearly got a heart attack when the draft vanished and accidentally uploaded before i was done so if you saw ... no you didnt)

[wikiangela]

It's a quiet evening, they're winding down after a long, exhausting day of work, just enjoying each other's company. They're on the couch, a cheesy romcom playing on the TV, Tommy's head in Buck's lap, Buck's fingers playing with Tommy's soft curls.

He's watching Tommy more than the movie. He observes his reactions, the soft smiles, the small chuckles, the eye rolls and scoffs - depending on what's happening on the screen. He's so beautiful and Buck wants to stare at him forever. And he gets to.

He beams, as he glances at his hand, still in Tommy's hair, where a simple silver band sits right on his ring finger, an exact match to the one on Tommy's hand, now casually resting on his stomach. Well, almost an exact match, the inscription on the inside just a little bit different - they both say their wedding date and the word 'forever' but they also have each other's names inscribed. Buck likes to take if off sometimes and just look at the words, trace his fingertip over Tommy's name, still amazed that this is his life, even after over a year of being married already.

So he observes his husband, eyes scanning all over, while Tommy's completely immersed in the movie, the romantic dork - Buck loves that he's the only one who truly gets to see this side of him. He's so cute and gorgeous, and Buck loves him so much and just can't take his eyes off him.

That's when he notices it, and a gasp breaks out of him. He can feel a huge grin pulling at his face.

"What's wrong?" Tommy immediately looks at him, a small concerned frown creasing his forehead. When he notices Buck smiling, worry turns into pure confusion. "Evan?"

"Baby." Buck says seriously, his fingers gripping a strand of Tommy's hair, as he announces happily, "You have your first gray hair." He's looking right at it, just a tiny, barely noticeable, silvery hair. It's there, and it looks beautiful, and Buck already kind of can't wait to see his husband get more of them.

"Okay?" Tommy's frown deepens, this time with amusement. "So?"

"So-" Buck starts, then shakes his head. It's stupid, it's just a hair, no big deal, everyone gets them eventually, it's nothing special. But in a way, it is. Because when they met a few years ago Tommy didn't have gray hair. Because in their line of work, and with their luck, with Buck's luck, seeing yourself or a person you love grow old is not always a given - and it's such a blessing. This, seeing a gray hair in Tommy's hair, combined with wrinkles starting to form on his beautiful face - it's an amazing sight. They're sharing a life together, growing older together, they're able to see each other go through all these changes, step by step, day by day, seemingly unnoticeable unless you pay particular attention. It makes Buck feel so grateful for this life he has, for his husband, for getting this chance. "Nothing," he says, fingers resuming combing through Tommy's thick curls, eyes still drawn to that lone gray hair. "I just love you."

"I love you, too, Evan." Tommy smiles that crinkly smile that makes the lines around his eyes even more pronounced. Buck has to lean down and kiss his lips, then the corner of his eye, making Tommy laugh. "What's that have anything to do with my gray hair?"

"I just really like the thought of getting to grow old with you. Of spending my life with you." Buck whispers, and sees Tommy's smile melt into that soft 'Evan' smile, reserved just for him.

"And you say I'm sappy," he responds teasingly, and Buck laughs. Oh, he loves Tommy so much. He looks into Tommy's eyes and sees everything he was just thinking about. He sees how Tommy wants the same things, how he appreciate those reminders, like a silly gray hair, of getting to go through life together.

He kind of can't wait to start going gray, too. To grow old with his husband.

[azul-marie]

ada. (enamour)

fem. reader. love rivalry including ada/reader/leon. (focus on reader)

something cold digs in between your shoulder blades, sending shivers up tense muscles.

it’s a sudden sensation. catches you off guard you forget to call out to leon, whose back is turned to you whilst sifting through paper files laying across an abandoned wooden desk. the latest room you’ve snuck into seemed abandoned enough — save for its open window rocking back and forth on screeching bolts. they must’ve entered through there mere seconds before the two of you did.

warm, sweet breath tickles your earlobe. another round of shivers overtake your senses. this time, through, you recover quickly enough to react.

your hand flies to your pocketed blade and in an instant is pressed up to their throat. it is then you realize, recognize who your company is. she smiles serenely at you, acting like the knife at her neck isn’t sharp enough to slice through bone. she bears her pistol with all the grace of someone who’s caught you in her web, not the other way around.

“long time no see, kitten.”

her deadpan voice practically echoes through the silence of the night. finally surprising your partner into turning around. what surprises him further is the way ada gazes at you, almost identical to the way she did at him all those years ago.

“ada.” leon says plainly, hand hovering over his own pistol. his eyes flicker between the two of you, to the way your hand fumbles with your blade, to how she smiles a little too suggestively for someone being threatened. he’s certain you’re about to push her down, or for her to knock the knife away from your obviously loosened grip — neither happen.

instead, you carefully tuck your blade away and greet her with a coy smile of your own.

“i wasn’t expecting you here, red.” your arms cross, a guard of sorts. you knew full well of the games she liked to play. she holds your eyes as she slips her pistol back in its holster, searching for something you refuse to show. it’s been a long time, indeed, but you still remember how to compose yourself around her. it’s all rather flattering.

ada circles you, trailing her fingertips over your shoulders. her silky touch is the only weapon in her grasp, but it is perhaps her most dangerous. she takes pleasure in the way you shift beneath her watch, how your pretty face fights to remain mild. she’s no fool. she sees the smile playing at those luscious lips of yours — why bother hiding it? she’s all sultry eyes just for you, now that she’s finally managed to separate your stuffy partner’s hip from yours. seems he hadn’t changed after all. he really was the clingy type.

it was cute. once. not when he happened to be clingy with you of all people.

“once i heard you were around, i just couldn’t help myself.” her arm comes to rest around the curve of your waist. her fingers press into the flesh of your hip, easing you closer. her lips hover over the soft of your neck, almost kissing a path up to your ear. your breathing stutters, and she purrs, “wanted to stop by and catch up with my favorite girl, is all.”

you scoff, but there’s no stopping the heat rising up and over your face. those pretty lips of yours finally turn up in a smile, bashful like a schoolgirl crush. the temptation to run her thumb over your bottom lip runs strong — until an awkward, intentional clear of a throat interrupts the thought.

“i’d appreciate if you left my partner alone.” leon interjects, striding to stand tall besides you. in a swift motion he interweaves your elbows together and pulls you towards him, at once halting the hold she had on you. it’s a comfortable, possessive sort of touch. how quaint. cute little leon, still wearing his heart on his sleeve.

given the way his hand clamps around yours, he must really have it bad. what a shame. for him.

ada is slow to drag her eyes away from you. she even runs them up, down, over your lovely body for good measure. she can’t have leon thinking she isn’t willing to compete — two can play at that game. his fuming glower tells her he’s gotten the message loud and clear. as he should. she zeros in on the way his grip tightens around yours, again, cozily touching you as if you were his.

a quirk of her brow suggests ire. “glad to see you, leon. to think, after all this time, you’re still such a lucky man. who would’ve thought she’d end up being your partner?”

the two of them stare each other down with such intensity you wonder what other history they share aside from you. tension seeps into the chill of the nighttime air. leon’s coiled up so tightly it raises worry, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his bicep to placate him. for all you know, the mysterious plagas infecting him could thrive off stress, and he’s already had plenty of that so far.

almost immediately does your touch have him redirecting his notice towards you. his intense gaze softens at your pretty eyes studying him. his broad shoulders gradually relax in your embrace. he’s visibly calmed by the simple act, much to ada’s amusement — and her vexation. her fingertips dig into her palms, wishing it was your hands beneath them instead.

“ada, why are you really here?” you inquire, and she’s pleased when you finally set sights back on her. she’s not fond of the questioning, however. she purses her lips. her expression morphs into a cautious neutral. you’re aware you won’t be getting a direct answer, no matter how much she likes you.

ada sighs, “oh, sweetheart. you know i don’t work and tell.”

guarded, she saunters to the opposite end of the room to the very window she slithered in through, overlooking the bleak scenery with little interest. you slip past leon to follow after her, grasping her fingers to keep her from going any further. pleasant warmth seeps through from your fingertips to hers. there’s no time to relish it, although she longs to feel more. calculating eyes regard you and you alone.

“leave the girl,” demands ada. “she’s lost no matter what. you walk away now…and who knows? maybe you’ll live to meet me again.”

keeping her eyes locked on yours, she brings your hand to her lips, and presses a languid kiss across your knuckles. a stain of red now marks you as hers. play glimmers in her irises. “…maybe i’ll even take you on that date i promised.”

“you think we’re gonna give up that easy?” leon’s voice cuts in, weighed with barely contained venom.

“right.” ada exhales a laugh. how true. the two of you really are perfect for one another. hearts of gold, heads full of dreams. she turns towards a silently seething leon, whose eyes pierce her every move. he does a poor job at hiding his envious glare towards your entwined hands. “how about we continue this discussion another time?”

she drops your hand unceremoniously, in favor of pressing a kiss to your cheek. the pulse of your racing heart is nearly tangible. such a sweet girl, flustered by a simple kiss. longing parts her lips in their journey up to your ear to whisper, “stay safe, beautiful.” she pulls away with an air of nonchalance, committing to memory the clear look of shock she’s frozen you into. it takes all she has not to go back in for another kiss, for there’s no knowing where her lips will land if she does.

“keep her safe for me, will you, leon? she’s really quite precious, you know.”

and just like that, she’s gone.

you nearly stumble towards the creaking window for a vain glimpse into the night she’s disappeared through. half shocked, half mortified of your audience still gaping at you, you could only hope he wasn’t put off by the instance of his flirty adversary. or the fact you had no quarrels in encouraging her.

a hand wraps around yours, warm and tight.

“careful. leaning out a little too far there, don’t you think?”

leon sounds rather relieved now that it’s back to being the two of you. ada must’ve been a sore sight for whatever reasons he’s held within. you avoid his eyes to recollect yourself, murmuring apologies beneath your breath.

then, a touch upon your cheek, the very one she’d kissed, puts a stop to all thoughts. your eyes flutter up towards leon’s. his usually somber expression has turned sour, scowling and scorned in a way you’re unfamiliar with. his hand cups your face, thumb frantically rubbing off what must be a lipstick stain ada’s left behind. the intensity of his eyes only adds to your embarrassment, makes you wish he hadn’t seen her in the first place. maybe then he wouldn’t be upset, angry with the ghost of her presence.

“here i thought luis would be my only problem.” leon mutters, so softly you’d mistaken he’d spoken at all. when he notices the shift in your pretty eyes, the sweetsoft concern that struck him weak, his gaze mellows instantly, and he blinks rapidly as if coming out of a daze. rose pink springs across his face in a blooming blush, a bigger surprise than his supposed anger. he rips his hand away upon realizing himself, leaving you curious.

“i mean—i meant, she’s the last person i expected to run into here. it’s—it’s a long story. won’t bore you with it. just know she’s probably not worth trusting completely. it’s best you’re careful around her. i’d hate…i wouldn’t want you hurt.”

his voice goes quiet at the end. his head is turned away, body tight and tense, hands fiddling with the holsters of his weapons. it isn’t like leon to speak so personally. so openly about his emotions. and you know it isn’t because of ada’s mere presence, what must be a recollection of the past.

you touch your cheek, still warm from his skin.

“you’re the one i trust, leon. we came here together, and we’re leaving together. i’m with you until the end.”

courage overtakes bashful notions. you close in beside him, reach up to push a lock of his hair behind his ear. cup his shying face, a tender encouragement to share his vulnerability with you. leon’s eyes fall back on yours too easily, too swiftly for a simple friendship. you see it; he is incapable of masking it.

it’s somewhat of an honor he’s so fond of you. it’s a reminder to be gentle with his feelings, though you yourself may not have yours sorted out just yet. but it is ascertained that you care immensely for him, perhaps in the way he’d like you to. perhaps not. there’s plenty of time to work things out.

“i’m with you, ace.” you smile, tugging his cheek until he returns one of his own. “there’s no one else i’d rather have beside me. got it?”

leon nods, convinced. “yeah. thanks.”

you pay a playful pat to his cheek, satisfied with his answer. “good, good. now, why don’t we get moving? we wouldn’t want to keep miss ashley waiting. what were we even looking for in the first place? some kind of key?”

the mention of the mission reinvigorates him. “yeah, exactly. should be somewhere around here, if you can help me look.”

“sure! let’s just hope we can get by without someone interrupting again.”

“wouldn’t that be nice.” scoffs leon, slipping his fingers through yours to lead you back towards the other half of the room. this habit of wanting you close was really too cute. willingly do you allow him to take your hand as he pleases.

all the while you will your heart not to flutter at the lipstick still staining the other, red on red alike.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Dude why did I just realize just now that you're the same person that made that fic about fire spirt parenting tiger lily that I was obsessed with at one point

You mean Flaming Lullaby? You read that? And you liked it enough to be obsessed with it? 😭 This made my morning, honestly. I always loved that part of the hanja run comics, where Fire Spirit is tasked by Moonlight with looking after Tiger Lily. I know the comics were never canon, but I thought it was such a charming idea that I HAD to do something with it, you know? It has so much potential. So bittersweet. I love bittersweet things. It's canon to me haha

(There's one more chapter btw. A big, long epilogue set in the future, when Tiger Lily is grown. I wrote the outline eons ago, all I need to do now is write the actual chapter haha. I'll try getting to it after some other stories I need to get started on)

[mamawasatesttube]

im actually 👌 this close to taking that fic from last night down :) if one more person tells me it reminds them of a different fic it's dead and gone <3 since apparently only one person can arrive at a given idea ever :")

[padfootastic]

i am so tired of female characters being inherently written as ‘terrifying’ or ‘scary’ w no respect to their characterisation.

for one, it feels so fake. i know so many women irl (i am one!!!) and there are very few, of any, that i would categorise as ‘scary as is’. heck, even if we go by tempers—the numbers just don’t match.

but somehow in fics, every single woman is a terrifying force of nature bc that’s…somehow…the only way we can think of women? idk?

and also just, it’s such a two dimensional characterisation that i only see w the female characters. all men aren’t angry and hex-happy and scary all the time. they’re affable, chill, respond to situations thoughtfully instead of always resorting to violence.

i think it also bothers me bc the anger thing flows neatly into the v gendered carefree man child/stuck up fun sponge stereotypes that so many relationships are forced into. it’s just an icky dynamic all around.

and lastly,,,i don’t think it’s even normal for a character to be latently terrifying everyone all the time??? unless it’s a specific quirk of theirs??? like women aren’t dementors bro chill tf out

[pissmotif]

“I mean, you still have some firsts,” James said as he popped open their beers against the counter, Remus couldn’t help his eye roll at the comment.

“I don’t think being able to last a minute before I finish in him counts as a first,” Remus huffed, less than politely snatching his beer from James’ hand.

James looked at him for a moment, considering, until he stepped closer to where Remus was sat on the sofa; his legs instinctively parting to make room for James as his friend looked down on him.

“Not quite what I meant, Lupin,” James didn’t break eye contact with him as he pulled a swig of his beer; Remus forced himself to not watch James’ throat swallow, “and, well, we’d be waiting fucking years for you to last more than three thrusts.”

“Oi!” Remus snapped, hoping the flush on his face wasn’t as evident as it felt. James grinned at him, all teeth and completely smug.

“Hey, you’re not hearing any complaints from us, are you?” James raised an eyebrow, when Remus shook his head, James continued, “but like I said, not what I was talking about.”

Remus stared at him; buying himself some time by drinking his beer as he searched his mind for what James could mean. They’d been at this for a while, he figured they were close to this whole experiment coming to an end; sure, he wasn’t great at sex yet, James wasn’t wrong about his stamina, but he learnt how to get someone off in other ways, felt as if he was as prepared as he could ever be to go out into the world.

“Well, what are you talking about then?” Remus finally asked, setting his beer on the table next to him. James’ grin was dangerous, everything about James was; he had a way of disarming you, of getting under your skin with his charm, so you’d agree to anything he’d say.

James didn’t reply for a moment, his hand coming up to push through Remus’ hair as his other hand brought the bottle back to his lips; Remus didn’t avert his gaze this time, watched as James’ lips wrapped around the bottle, watched as his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

A stray drop of beer made its way down James’ chin, getting caught in the stubble there; Remus wanted to lick it clean, wanted to bite the skin there until the taste of beer was gone and the only thing left was James.

James pulled him out of his reverie by pressing his beer bottle against Remus’ neck; Remus shuddered away from the cold, his hands lifting up instinctively to push James away.

James removed the bottle; but Remus’ hands stayed glued to James’ thighs, fingers unconsciously flexing against the muscle there.

“Haven’t learnt how to suck cock yet, have you?” James asked before taking another sip; Remus’ fingers dug in further, his mouth going dry. He realised, for the first time, the position they were in; James standing in between his parted thighs, his hands on the muscle of James’ leg, his eye line perfectly at James’ cock.

“No,” Remus breathed out, he hadn’t known it was an option, really.

“Come on then, big boy,” James’ smile didn’t falter, and Remus couldn’t help the way his cock twitched at the words — a pavlovian response at this point, “open up.”

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Got a comment that said they liked the fic but weren't expecting to I guess? Bc while they like both, they thought soulmate AUs and slow burns were antithetical and I just

That's the problem!! That's why I wrote it!!!! Too many people think soulmate AUs are just a quick easy oh they found out they're soulmates so they're together now the end

No??? 1) that's not satisfying and 2) that's not how people work??

That kind of soulmate AU makes me so crazy bc like, if you're not going to do the work of showing what makes these people soulmates then what's the point? I want to feel it!! As the reader I should be able to read the story and then pinpoint the ways they fit together like puzzle pieces. If you quit at and they were soulmates then like lol what are we even doing here?

And people are messy! People lie people do things that make no sense bc they're scared or they think it's expected or they're trying to make someone they care about happy. You don't have to: their eyes met and they knew in their soul exactly how perfect this person was for them. Add some deflection. Add some confusion inherent to living. Add a barrier and some miscommunication and root it in who they are as people. There are a million ways to tell a satisfying soulmate story but very few of them end at the meet cute imo

[wikiangela]

🥵🥵🥵

9 sentences of the bucktommy smut for you! still not really sure about anything in this fic, but hopefully it's turning into something semi-good lmao

 “Can I blow you?” he adds, and it’s so sudden and quick, for a second Buck doesn’t even register it, too lost in Tommy’s touch. But when the words catch up to him, he releases the loudest moan. “God, please,” he whimpers, the thought of Tommy’s lips on him filling him with so much more needy desire, he just needs more more more. More Tommy, more of this, just more. “I think- I think I might die if you don’t.” He says and hears Tommy bark out a breathy laugh. “Well, that’s a little dramatic,” he teases, but he lowers his head, closer to Buck’s dick, the movements of his hand slowing down. When he speaks next, his hot breath ghosts over Buck’s flushed skin, his cock twitching with anticipation. “But we can’t let that happen, can we?” he purrs, and then his tongue is darting out and licking the pre-come off the slit, and Buck’s pretty sure his moan can be heard in the whole building.

tagging people who were also interested: @bidisasterevankinard @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus

[rainofcolours]

blue, white and brown (1980 words)

[ (2/? hierarchy of collapse) | Kaijou/Puppyshipping | @hurtcember 2024 Day 2: Breakdown ]

Summary: Now that he and Seto have parted ways less than amicably, Katsuya is left with the ghosts of blue, white and brown. (Myst's usual brand of hurt-no-comfort Kaijou; potential triggers in ao3)

Click below for a few preview paragraphs!

“Go ta hell, Seto Kaiba!”

The cacophonous banging of erratic fists on wood exhausted.

Katsuya hung his head in the gallows of his wrists; each uneven rasp he drew stilted by the weight of iron buried somewhere in the grave of his chest. With every surge of his veins, he felt the sear of pain burrow deeper into his left eye, coating his vision in a miasma of grey. Was it the void of solitude or the taint of his resentment that filled the darkness he was seated within?

He rolled his neck, imprints of his rage still reverberating in his ears. The cold metal of the chair an uncomfortable anchor for his limp body, limbs distending until they grazed the floor as he gave in to the weight of his own gravity. There, Katsuya sat, unmoving – his inner hurricane encased in the vacuum of Domino’s midnight; dim eyes, unfocussed, at the far wall – wondering if it was the absence of light or his own delusion that made the edges undulate and distort.

How did we end up like this?

The darkness was a kind tormentor: Within its negative space breathed that which was coveted; what the heart wanted, the darkness granted. Ideals and caricatures alike strung to life by determined longing, dancing in the wisps of suggestions in your mind’s shadow. Its stage was built upon your projections – helping shed your armour, creating the suggestion of safety, and catching when your knees buckled in confession; so it could coax inspiration from the deepest alcoves where you thought amnesia had long put what you held most precious to rest. 

(Read the rest of the fic here!)

[sarcosmiiic]

#grians the ONLY ONE who can even see mumbo now and he likes that concept A Whole Lot that's the kinda greed they talk about in the bible

1

2

i didnt know how to respond to this (not ur fault im just braindead <3) but the bible mention has had this song stuck in my head for the past day so. :3

new grian skin just dropped

[hecatesbroom]

I thought you might like the fic asks! :) questions 6, 16 and 19 for you!

Haha I absolutely do! Thanks for the questions! <3

6. the word that appears the most in your current draft

My current draft is actually not a fanfic, but an original project I started the other day! (For anyone who's curious: my most used word there is "envelope"). But for some fic drafts I'm most near to finishing: it's "little", "flowers", "just", and "all" (for 4 golden girls wips respectively).

16. favourite place to write

I'm not too picky with the place I write in, but I prefer writing anywhere at home! Admittedly I don't really go anywhere else at the moment lmao but it's a lot easier to focus on what I'm writing when I'm home!

At the moment I usually sit on the couch, but I like to switch things up by moving to a table or my desk from time to time. It's mostly the couch though, because I tend to be very tired & it feels less exhausting to sit there for some reason! (Plus, it's easier on my back :)

Added bonus about the couch is that my cats tend to opt to sit on my lap instead of my laptop when I'm writing like they do at the table, haha.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

Oh dear -- I honestly don't know! Am I exposing myself too much here by saying I don't research much at all at the moment? I just wing it and usually hope for the best haha (so I mostly avoid writing about topics I'll have to research! I'm keeping a list of things to look into once I do have the time and brainpower again).

I think the one thing I looked up that hit hardest was the symbolism for ivy, for the appropriately titled Ivy. I'd written the whole thing before I figured: hey! maybe ivy works well as a symbol. And lo and behold: its meaning turned out to be even more heartbreaking than I'd hoped!

But mostly it's just a bit of fact checking :) or looking for appropriate songs, like the one for oh, my dear / our love is here to stay, for which I really wanted them to dance to a Sinatra song (because all girls mentioned they love him, so it only seemed appropriate)!

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

OCD CHRISTIAN I HAVE TEARS IN MY EYES PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLAESE OCD CHRISTIAN

Send me an ask from my WIP List and I'll post a little snippet or tell you something about it!

Christian lights a match, frowning when it doesn’t feel right, and discards the match, reaching for another to try again. He knows that he’s being wasteful, knows deep down that this isn’t actually doing anything, but the knowing isn’t enough to make him stop. He needs this, needs the way it makes his world make sense again, needs the way it brings order to the chaos. His world turned upside down the moment he met Satine, and it hasn’t stopped spinning since. But this? This makes sense. There are rules to the way the world works, or so Christian had once thought. If you strike a match, it’ll light. If you touch the fire, it’ll burn. If you meet someone you love, she’ll be here forever. She won’t— Christian moves to strike another match, the pit of anxiety in his stomach only growing when this one snaps in half in his too-tight grip.